


Post

by doodledinmypants



Series: The Right Order (Jigen/Oscar) [2]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: (they are very trying), Background Jigen/Lupin, Breakup, Character Growth, Coda, Epistolary, Happy Ending, Healing, Illustrated, Jigen is still a gay disaster, Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not beta-read, Phone Calls, Pining, Postcards, Reconciliation, Referenced incestuous one-sided infatuation, Reunions, Romance, SPOILERS for The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, Sequel, Spoilers for previous fic, TWCFM, Trauma Recovery, answering machine messages, but heaven help them they are trying, dealing with FEELINGS, except nothing ever ends, oscar is still a messy bitch, unconventional relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodledinmypants/pseuds/doodledinmypants
Summary: There was no such thing as a neat and tidy ending....A coda/sequel to We Haven’t Met Yet. Jigen maintains sporadic correspondence with Oscar over the years. Mostly Oscar POV.
Relationships: Jigen Daisuke/Oscar Zenigata, Oscar/OC, Zenigata Kouichi & Oscar Zenigata
Series: The Right Order (Jigen/Oscar) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186679
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Oscar's Journal

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I finished WHMY, I couldn’t decide whether or not I hated the ending. I knew something was off, though, so I started writing this fic to figure that out. Then I remembered I already said this in WHMY: “There was no such thing as a neat and tidy ending.” Or, as Peter S. Beagle put it in The Last Unicorn: “There are no happy endings because nothing ends.”
> 
> I couldn’t just give Oscar a seemingly happy ending all tied up with a bow. His story wasn’t over. A couple years of 60’s/70’s era psychotherapy and a new boyfriend weren’t going to magically cure him any more than sleeping with Jigen would. So I figured we could follow his exchanges with Jigen over the years and see what becomes of him. Some of the things that came out of this exploration surprised me. I hope you’ll enjoy the journey.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Select entries from the journal Oscar kept during his two years at the psychotherapy halfway house.

Dear Jigen,

I can’t send you this letter, because I don’t know where to send it. One of my ‘assignments’ is to keep a journal, however, and it just made more sense to frame it as writing to you. It feels less lonely that way. This notebook is confidential. My secrets, and yours, are safe within its pages.

It would hopefully come as a reassurance to you that I am well. The doctors here are very good at what they do. The nurses and other staff are kind. I’ve even made a few friends. Well, acquaintances. I’m not close to anyone yet. 

My ‘episodes’, as Doctor Larue calls them, have become more manageable. I have a sedative that I can take when I become too agitated. He is also trying me on different cocktails of anti-psychotics and anti-schizoid medications. The waking nightmares are easier to identify as such now. I’m less confused about who I am or what’s happening around me. Through group and individual therapy sessions, I’ve learned how to cope with what happened to me. I’ve learned to cope with some of the things I’ve done.

I know who you are, Jigen. I knew from the day you introduced yourself to me. I didn’t know you were still working with Lupin at first, not until you told me. I don’t know why I thought I would be safer in your company than in anyone else’s, but I did. A criminal, surely, wouldn’t immediately go to the police with me. And you didn’t. Even though you suggested it once, my reaction erased that as an option for you. You didn’t suggest it again. I’m grateful for that. More than you can know. I don’t think you know even a fraction of the things I’ve done.

I’m a criminal, too, you see. I stole things, tried to frame Fujiko Mine for crimes she hadn’t committed. I even murdered fellow officers in cold blood. I did it all in the vain hope that Inspector Zenigata would capture me, disguised as Fujiko, and— _[writing illegible due to a smear of ink]._ Even writing those words now makes me feel sick with horror. It feels like something I watched in a movie, long ago, not something I did myself. Could that really have been me, doing such horrible things? I was so angry. I wanted to hurt Fujiko—wanted to _kill_ her. I wanted to hurt myself. 

Some of these things I have spoken about in my therapy sessions. Some of them I can never say out loud, no matter what doctor-patient confidentiality protects. I don’t fear punishment for my crimes so much as I fear word getting back to Zenigata. I fear him coming to find me. I fear him seeing me as I am now.

I wish you would come back to me, Jigen. I know you won’t. I miss the warmth of you in the bed beside me at night. I miss how safe I felt with you. Even with the Inspector, I don’t think I ever felt so safe.

Someday, let us meet as if for the first time. Someday, we will introduce ourselves to one another, and you can ask me to dinner, and I will say yes. On that day, our new story will begin. A true fresh start.

  
Yours, truly,

-Oscar ~~Zenigata~~

  
…

Dear Jigen,

It has been one year since I began keeping this journal, writing these letters to you even though I know you will never read them. Maybe if I do see you again, I’ll hand you this notebook. Maybe not. I don’t know if I want you to see the things I’ve written, especially the earlier entries. Perhaps I’d rather you remembered me as a troubled, but otherwise innocent young man. Do you think I’m innocent? Perhaps not, since you know that I used to be with the police. I still carry shame for the things I have done, but more than anything I wish to forgive myself and move forward. I have healed so much in the past year. The doctors all say I’ve made great progress. I rarely have the episodes anymore. I have nightmares, but the medication I am taking helps me sleep more soundly. 

The worst of the things I’ve done, I now know, were not truly my doing. You remember the owls? Fraulein Eule? The experiments they performed on me were not just a recent thing. I’ve uncovered memories from my childhood that I’d thought lost. Memories from before Zenigata pulled me from the river. I was used as a puppet long before I met Fujiko Mine. It is difficult to reconcile the harm I have caused with the fact that I was manipulated into much of my behavior. I can’t blame it all on that, of course. Some of my choices were my own. It is a murky place, though, trying to sort what actions were simply _Oscar_ and what actions came from someone else pulling on my strings. I may not ever know for certain. 

All I can know is that now, I am in control of myself. Only I can decide how to act from now on. I’m going to do my best to live a good life, Jigen. I wish to live a life where I am kind to others. For every person I have harmed, I wish to help. For every moment of cruelty, I wish to be gentle. Maybe it’s not the sort of life you could choose for yourself, but I like to think you’d approve of it for me. 

I have a true friend now. I think you’d like him—everyone does. His name is Beau. He’s the reason I want to live a kinder life. Beau is already kind, and gentle, and caring. We share a room, and when I’ve woken from nightmares, he’s there to remind me that I am safe. Recently, he has climbed into bed with me to hold me close. He smells nothing like you, but something about the way he holds me reminds me of you anyway. He only holds me, nothing more. I’ve tried to kiss him but he said it wouldn’t be right. It’s frustrating, but I understand. I probably should not have done with you the things I did. I was not always making decisions for myself. I don’t blame you, though, Jigen. In your own way, you’re as broken as I am. I wish you healing, too.

  
Yours, truly,

-Oscar

…

Dear Jigen,

It has been two years, today, since you left me here in this village. I have not set foot outside of this village, except for brief trips into Toulouse.

I’m not at the facility any longer. Beau and I have moved into a cottage in the village proper. We have a garden. I took all of your postcards with me, and the facility forwards my mail to me. You said in your last postcard that you might come to visit soon, but you’ve said that a few times and never followed through. I’m not even sure what I’d say to you if you did show up at my front door. Would I throw myself into your arms as though no time had passed? Would I kiss you? Would I be angry at you for leaving me for so long, or cry, or be grateful to you for not coming back any sooner? I have felt all of these things would be true at some point or another. 

I did love you, Jigen, and some part of me loves you still. I still think of you all the time. My feelings for you have grown complicated, however. I don’t think you ever meant me any harm—far from it—but you would not have been able to help me heal. You knew that, though. You told me as much the day you brought me here. I resented you for that at first. I still resent you a little bit for not coming to visit as you said you would, but perhaps it was for the best after all. Without anything from my past to hold me back, I was able to reinvent myself and grow into a new person. 

I’ve taken on a new surname: Neville. It means ‘new village’. It seems too obvious, doesn’t it? Beau says it suits me, though. 

As I’ve said in previous entries, Beau and I are now partners. When we first moved into the cottage, I felt like a new bride on her wedding day. We can’t get married like that, of course, but the people in this village are very accepting of love like ours. I never thought I’d find such a place. I never thought I’d find such a love. Part of me had hoped to find it with Zenigata (a naive dream, twisted from familial love), and later with you (yet again imprinting on the first person to show me any care or kindness). With Beau, however… We are equals. We understand one another. He is stronger than I am, in so many ways, and he takes care of me; but I take care of him, too. 

I think this will be the last letter I write to you in this journal. It seems like a happy ending to this story, even if my story is far from over. I will keep my promise to you, Jigen, and I will try to live a long, happy life. Perhaps someday you will get a chance to see it for yourself. 

Please take care of yourself, Jigen. 

Yours, truly,

-Oscar Neville


	2. Letters and Postcards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters and postcards exchanged between Jigen and Oscar after the end of "We Haven't Met Yet."

Dear Jigen,

I hope this letter finds you well. Summer is fading and the harvest is approaching. The days are still too hot and humid for my liking.

It is strange to write you a letter with the knowledge that you may actually read it. I did not give you my journals from the past couple of years when you came to visit, though I did share with you the important parts; if I had, you would know that I wrote each entry as though it was a letter to you. It’s a little embarrassing now to even admit to it. Surely you can understand? You had a powerful impact on me in the short time we were together. It should be no surprise that I clung to the memory of you as a lifeline.

Seeing you outside my front door was such a shock. I thought I might be dreaming. You were so warm and solid, though. I would have done nothing but hold you for the rest of the evening, but I didn’t want to make Beau jealous. He is too kind to say anything about it, but I know he worries that I would leave him for you if you asked me. Maybe once upon a time, that would even have been true. I apologize if it was awkward to share a meal with us, making small talk like old friends without saying anything of substance. It really was good to see you, though, to hear your voice again. You seemed so much older, somehow, yet at the same time there was an ease and lightness to you that I didn’t remember seeing before. I can only assume it is Lupin’s doing. You mentioned other friends, too, and that made me so happy for you. When we first met, the loneliness inside both of us could have blotted out the sun. Now, when you laugh, I can see the smile lines in your face, and the sheer joy of being alive in every movement you make. You’ve grown and changed for the better, too. I’m glad. 

I won’t ask for details about your adventures, but I am curious as to what you get up to with Lupin. Maybe you could tell me a story sometime? You can make it up, if you like, change names or locations so that if these letters wind up in the wrong hands, nobody will be able to trace them back to you. 

I do hope you’ll be able to visit again someday, though I understand if you can’t. Please keep sending postcards, though? I enjoy reading them and imagining what fun you must be having out there in the wide world. I considered arranging some of them in a frame to display on the wall, but then I wouldn’t be able to re-read them whenever I wanted. I keep them in a shoebox in the study.

Wishing you all the best in your travels, and hoping this letter reaches you safely.

Sincerely,

-Oscar Neville

…

[A postcard with a photograph of the Statue of Liberty on one side.]

Dear O,

I got your letter. Not enough space here for a story, but I’ll try to write you a longer letter soon. Hope you and B are well. I’m fine. Never a dull moment. 

-J

…

[A postcard with a photograph of the Egyptian pyramids]

Dear O,

You would not believe the nonsense we ran into out here. Who knew those curses were the real deal? Everyone is fine, more or less. 

-J

…

Dear O,

I’m lying low for a little while, so I actually have time to sit down and write you a proper letter for once. I can’t tell you exactly where I am. 

I know you said it was fine that I never came to visit before, but I still feel bad about it. You mean a lot to me. I’m not good at saying things like that to people. Attachments are a bad idea in this line of work. It hasn’t worked out so well for me in the past. So, I keep my distance. It’s safer for both of us. Please understand, it’s _because_ I care that I stay away. 

You wanted a story, right? Here’s one:

There once was a thief that was as foolish as he was brilliant. He stole the mask of a famous pharaoh to impress a woman who didn’t deserve it. When the mask cursed him into thinking he was that very same pharaoh, he climbed up onto a pyramid and tried to announce his grand return. The thief’s friends had to hogtie him and keep him on a boat while the mask was returned to its rightful place, thus breaking the curse. Did the thief learn his lesson? Of course not. He went right back to stealing ridiculous things for fun and to impress women. The moral of this story: don’t be a dumbass thief. 

I’m not really good at telling stories. I’m also not good at following my own advice, since I keep hanging around this dumbass thief and helping him with his zany schemes. Like I said, though: never a dull moment. 

It’s getting toward winter now, so I assume the weather is cooler than in your last letter. Keep an eye on your mailbox. I might be able to get a package to you by the holidays. 

Take care.

-J

…

Dear J,

(I assume the use of initials is safer, so I’ll do the same.)

Your first real letter! I was thrilled to receive it. Your story made me laugh. It sounds like you really do live an adventurous lifestyle, don’t you? Life here in the village isn’t nearly so exciting, but I’m content. There are lights up all over, now, and Christmas is coming. I wasn’t sure what to send you for a gift, so I’ve included a photograph that B took of me. 

I received the package. Thank you for the sweets, and for the little cat figurine. Is this going to be a theme for us? I suppose it is fitting, since you let L believe I was a stray cat for all that time. Did you ever tell him the truth?

Though I understand your reasons, I wish you would come to visit again. It seems so sad to not be with people you love around the holidays in particular. I hope you are with your friends. Sometimes I think about another man that I miss, and hope that he isn’t lonely this time of year, too. 

Merry Christmas, wherever you are, and a Happy New Year.

Sincerely,

-O

…

Dear O,

Sorry for the long wait between replies. It’s springtime now. I’ve enclosed a few postcards from Japan so you can see the cherry blossoms. I was just going to send one, but couldn’t decide which I thought you’d like best, so I got them all. 

I spent the holidays with L, so I wasn’t alone. It’s sweet of you to worry about me. Is the other man you worry about a certain Z? Have you reached out to him? Maybe you could send him a postcard, anonymously, to let him know you’re OK. (You could use one of the cherry blossom ones; I’ll bet he’d like that, since he’s from Japan, too.) If nothing else, it might help you feel a little better. I don’t know how things were between you two, so ignore me if I’m way out of line. You seem to have calmed down a lot about him, though.

The photo of you is really nice. You look so happy, with the snowflakes in your hair and color in your cheeks. Please thank B for me for being the kind of guy who can make you smile like that. I’d send you a picture of me, but I don’t know how B would feel about that. Also why would you want a picture of my goofy face?

I’m not in France for long. Probably going to spend some time in the US. I’ll send you another postcard with a P.O box address if it looks like I’ll be there for more than a month or two. Otherwise, feel free to keep sending letters to this address. Sooner or later I’ll be back to check on it.

Take care.

-J

…

Dear J,

It was a mistake for me to mention that man. Please forget I said anything. That is a part of my past I cannot touch again.

The postcards are lovely, thank you. Since they don’t have anything written on them, I’ve arranged them inside a picture frame. I think they look quite nice on the wall in the kitchen. 

I would love a photo of you! You have an excellent face, don’t be silly. 

Keeping this letter short so I don’t follow my usual habit of spending weeks trying to fill up the page. I want to make sure this reaches you before you leave the country. 

Is the answering machine still an option?

Sincerely,

-O

…

Dear O,

I’m writing from Florida. You could technically leave me a message at my hotel for the next few weeks, but the long distance rates are ridiculous and I can’t guarantee I’ll be around much. I’ll check the messages on the machine when I get back to France. Enclosed are some more postcards. Have you ever been to Disney World? I don’t recommend it. 

Sorry if I hit a sore spot. I wasn’t sure if I should bring him up, until you did. We see a lot of him, did you know? He’s still after L.

I haven’t mentioned you to L in all this time. If he even knows about the letters, he hasn’t said anything. As far as I know, he still thinks you’re that stray cat I picked up almost three years ago.

Well, you asked for it. L took this photo of me on the beach while I was napping. Don’t worry, I got some aloe for the sunburn.

-J


	3. Leave a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transcripts of messages left by Oscar on Jigen's answering machine.

_[message begins]_

Hello? This is Oscar. I haven’t actually left a message on an answering machine before, so I’m not sure how this works. Do I just… oh, I don’t even know what to say. It startled me to hear your voice. For a second I thought you were really speaking to me. I—

_[message ends]_

…

_[message begins]_

So I understand these have a time limit, now. I’ll try to talk fast. Got your letter! I haven’t been to Disney World or the US, though now I’m curious. Your photo made me laugh. Not sure what I can say regarding... _him_. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s chasing after, ah, your friend. I’ll think about what you said. Try to remember to wear sunscreen. Bye.

_[message ends]_

…

_[message begins]_

I know I shouldn’t fill up your answering machine like this. I’m not even sure how many messages it can record? Anyway, it’s just that it’s been a few months and I haven’t seen a new letter or postcard from you. I’m a little worried. Hopefully you still check this thing. Please take care, Jigen.

_[message ends]_

…

_[message begins]_

Jigen, when you get this, please call me? I… I don’t know what to do. Beau… he left me. I’m not sure why. He just packed his things and… left. I don’t know what I did wrong. I’m not sure who to even talk to—all of my other friends were friends with him, too. I just feel so lost.

_[message ends]_

…

_[message begins]_

The bastard. Jigen, that bastard was cheating on me! All those jokes about him being jealous of the postcards, of-of me writing to you? And he’s the one who… Ugh! Would you kill him if I asked you to? No, no don’t really, I’m just angry and a little drunk. Jigen, I m—

_[message ends]_

…

_[message begins]_

Please ignore my last message. I shouldn’t have called. I was more than a little drunk. You don’t need to do anything. Not that I think you would. I haven’t even heard from you in—no. Never mind. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.

_[message ends]_

…

_[message begins]_

Jigen, it’s Oscar. I won’t be calling any longer. Don’t send any more letters to my address, either, as I won’t be living there after the end of September. I’ve sold the house. I’m renting a place in Toulouse. I’d give you the new address, but I doubt you’d write anyway. Are you even still alive?

_[message ends]_


	4. Letters, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to letters now.

Dear O,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I was gone a lot longer than I meant to be. You knew I couldn’t promise you much, though.

I found your new address in the phone book. I won’t try to stay in contact if you don’t want me to. The answering machine had to be disconnected, but I still have the post office box. I’ll try to check it at least once or twice a year, when I’m in the area. 

I still want you to have a good, long life. Take care.

-J

…

Dear J,

I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to keep sending me postcards. I’m sorry. I said some things I didn’t mean. It’s been a rough few months. I’m finding my feet here in Toulouse, though. I have a good job. I have a phone line, now, too. Call me if you’re in the country? Maybe we could catch up over coffee. My phone number is _[number redacted]._

Best,

-O

…

  
Dear O,

Life is full of funny coincidences. Got stuck in a prison cell (more like a dungeon) with Z for awhile. Long story. He mentioned you, not by name but by description. He thinks you died. He obviously has a lot of regrets, a lot of grief. I don’t like to meddle in anyone else’s business, but Z… he’s different now. It’s been, what, five years since you’ve seen him? You’ve both grown so much. You know what L calls him now? “Pops.” The rest of us have started using it, too. Feels a little weird, knowing what I know, but the nickname has stuck. We’re kind of fond of the guy. He’s tenacious, but he’s more honorable than most of the cops I’ve run into. Has a softer heart than I would have expected, too. I think he’s lonely.

Don’t worry. I didn’t tell him about you. I wanted to, but even I wouldn’t go that far. That’s on you to decide.

No postcard this time. The country I was in didn’t exactly have a gift shop. Not planning to come back here. The tourism sucks.

Best,

-J

…

Dear J,

I don’t even know what I could say to him, now. I’m afraid he’d only be angry with me for hiding myself so long. He was always so stern with me. No, that’s not true; not always. When I was still a child, he was kind. He smiled at me, held me like a son. As I grew older, he put distance between us. Sent me off to boarding schools because he didn’t have time for me. All I ever wanted from him was his love and affection. Somewhere in there it grew twisted. The situation with the owls made it even worse. The love I had for the only father I could remember was perverted into something I don’t even like to look at too closely anymore. That part… it wasn’t all me. It wasn’t all _not_ me, though.

Thank you for not saying anything. Please don’t say anything. I will think about it. I can’t promise I’ll reach out to him, though. My life is already precarious enough as it is. I don’t need anything else to crack the foundation I’ve so carefully built here.

Glad you made it out of wherever you were. Be safe.

Best,

-O

…

Dear O,

It’s understandable to be afraid. I have people from my past that I’m afraid to contact, too. In my case, I can use the excuse that I’m protecting them. Any connection to me is inviting danger. It’s why I stayed away from you for so long. It’s why I’m still hesitant to visit. Trouble seems to follow me. Follows _us_. So, I get it. 

But O, if you had seen the way he talked about you… I saw tears in his eyes. It was the first time I had a conversation with him that didn’t revolve around L. It was strange, being able to empathize with him so much, yet not being able to tell him why. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you’re not ready to do. Like I said, I understand. By the same token, though, don’t repeat my mistakes. You never know when you’ll lose the chance, forever.

Best,

-J

…

Dear J,

You’re not going to leave this alone, are you? All right. You’ve never really asked anything of me before, so I suppose I can try to do this one thing.

I’m terrified. The things I’ve done, he could arrest me and I wouldn’t see the light of day for the rest of my life. He might even kill me. Maybe I should accept that, though. 

I never told you this—I never even wrote it in my journals when I was pretending to write to you—but I thought about going back. When you first found me, I mean. I knew who you were, and I knew you were connected somehow to L. There was a moment when I thought I could use you to get back into his good graces. Obviously, I gave up on that idea. Please don't hate me too much.

I’m sending him a postcard from Toulouse. ICPO headquarters is still in Lyon, so if I send it to him there it should get to him eventually, no matter where he’s stationed. He will come to Toulouse if he wishes to find me.

If I am arrested, will you and L steal me from jail? I am only joking. I have nothing to offer in exchange. Wish me luck.

Best,

-O

…

Dear J,

Please call me as soon as you can. I must speak with you. It’s important.

-O

…

Dear J,

I can only assume you have been out of the country. You may have noticed that a certain Z was not chasing after you. The reason is because I put him in the hospital.

It was not intentional. He received my card and he came to Toulouse, as I had guessed he would. I did not guess that he would take one look at me, turn white, then red, then fall over clutching his chest. I had to call for help. He spent some time in the hospital—a minor heart attack, they said. Brought on by stress and poor diet and overwork. 

We’ve spoken, now. I won’t detail everything, but I told him where I’d been the past several years. Apologies were exchanged, tears were shed. It was all very exhausting but ultimately cathartic. You were right: he’s changed. We both have. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to try to have some kind of relationship with him again after everything that happened between us, but he seems willing to try. He’s wiping the slate clean, he says. It seems almost too easy. But, if he wanted to arrest me, he could have at any time. 

I haven’t mentioned you. If he knew about the connection between us, he might try to get information about L. Not that I have anything to give him. It seems you and I will have to be each other’s little secrets a while longer yet. 

Best,

-O

…

Dear O,

I just received your letters. I’ll give you a call while I’m in the country, once I'm done with some other business here.

Don't worry. I could never hate you.

-J


	5. The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're working our way closer to in-person conversations. Here's a real-time phone call.

_[Telephone call transcript begins]_

O: Hello?

J: It’s me.

O: Oh, god, Jigen! It’s so good to hear your voice. Everything’s been so… It’s just…

J: I know, I know. I’m sorry I couldn't be there.

O: He’s out of the hospital now. Zenigata, I mean.

J: Right, I figured.

O: He’s doing fine. The doctors told him he should reduce his stress levels and stop chasing after Lupin, but he just laughed. I guess that’s not surprising, though. He’s as stubborn as ever.

J: _[laughs]_ Yeah, that’s our Pops. Doesn’t know when to quit.

O: I know you can’t do much about it, but I wish you’d take it easy on him. Now that I’m finally speaking to him again…

J: Look, I’ll talk to Lupin, but I can’t promise anything. You know that. 

O: I know. Oh, Jigen! He wants to meet up with me every so often for dinner, just to catch up. I never even _hoped_... I didn't think I could face him again, much less have him as part of my life again. 

J: That’s good. That’s great. I'm really happy for you, Oscar.

O: You could do that, too.

J: Ha! Not at the same time, though.

O: No, that’s not what I meant!

J: I’m just teasing. Yeah, I mean. I’ll think about it. I’m not always around, you know?

O: Oh, I’m well aware.

J: Oscar…

O: It’s okay. Really. I just miss you. I miss you a lot, Jigen.

J: _[shaky sigh]_ Yeah. I miss you, too. 

O: Even if we can’t… I’d just like to see you again.

J: Okay. Okay, I’ll try. _[long pause]_ I can be in Toulouse tomorrow.

O: Wait, really?

J: Yeah. If that works for you?

O: I mean, yes! Yes, of course. Zenigata is going back to Lyon tonight. He has a few more weeks of recovery before he can go back into the field.

J: Mmm. I’ll let Lupin know. Maybe he can take a break, too. 

O: You could stay with me. In Toulouse, I mean. 

J: Would that really be a good idea?

O: Are you afraid something will happen?

J: Not _afraid_ … 

O: Jigen, it’s not like before. I can make my own choices. And I know it can never be a… a permanent thing—

J: Oscar—

O: —but I still want you. Even if it’s just for a week, or... or only one night. 

J: I… damnit, Oscar, you’re putting me in a difficult position here.

O: You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.

J: I do, though. I want _you_. I’ve never stopped wanting you.

O: Jigen… _[soft gasp]_

J: Now, don’t start crying. Fuck. Oscar, if you cry…

O: _[tearful laugh]_ Big bad gunman is gonna cry too?

J: _[hoarsely, fondly]_ Shut up, brat. 

O: I’ll see you tomorrow.

J: All right. Bye.

O: Bye.

_[click]_

_[end of transcript]_


	6. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters will be in regular prose format, not epistolary like the rest of the fic. Final Chapter/Epilogue will return to letters and messages.

As Oscar locked up behind himself at the shop, he caught the reflection of a familiar silhouette in the window. With a soft huff of a laugh, he tucked the key ring into his backpack and turned around. Jigen was leaning casually against a street lamp, smoking. He looked about the same as Oscar remembered, but with a new hat, new suit, hair trimmed a bit shorter and looking freshly washed. Like he’d cleaned up for a date. 

“Hey, stranger,” Oscar greeted, trying to play it cool but unable to hold back the grin tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” Jigen returned. “Been awhile.”

“Too long.” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Jigen stubbed out his cigarette on the lamp post and tossed the butt in a nearby garbage can. “You’re just getting off work, right? Let me take you to dinner.”

Oscar considered his bicycle, which was still chained up in the narrow alley between the shop and the next building. “Are we walking?”

“I’ve got wheels.” Jigen got into the car that was parked next to the lamp and leaned over to pop the passenger side door open. Oscar decided he could always take a cab to work if needed. He got in, admiring the leather seats of the convertible. It was a very nice car, but not too ostentatious. 

“Is this yours?”

“For now,” Jigen chuckled. He clarified: “It’s rented, not stolen.”

“I wasn’t going to ask. But I appreciate it.” 

The energy between them thrummed, anticipatory. Oscar remembered a video he’d seen of two magnets placed near one another, how they’d trembled and slowly drifted closer until suddenly they snapped together. If he reached out to touch Jigen now, they’d never make it to dinner. He kept his hands on his backpack as though he could resist the magnetic pull by sheer force of will. 

Jigen took them to a restaurant Oscar had never been to, though he’d passed by it a number of times. It was one of those quietly expensive places that Oscar couldn’t justify going to on his meager wages. He worried that he was underdressed in his navy polo shirt and khaki slacks; at least he’d stuffed his shop apron into his backpack, which Jigen had locked in the trunk for him. The host brought them to a quiet table in the back. The house lights were dim, and there were candles in little glass lanterns on the tables. 

“Your last job must have gone well,” Oscar observed as he skimmed the menu. As he’d suspected, the prices were well outside of his budget. One meal here would equal an entire week’s worth of groceries from the shop where he worked.

The lopsided smile Jigen gave him was almost embarrassed. “I don’t know how much of that you actually wanna hear. Don’t worry about it, get whatever you want. My treat.”

“You don’t have to work so hard to impress me, you know.” Oscar tried to hide his blush behind the menu, but Jigen reached over and tipped it down gently. He hadn’t removed his hat, though his eyes were just visible now beneath the brim. Eyes that were far too kind for a man who made his living with a gun in his hand. 

“Just making up for lost time.”

Oscar’s breath caught, and oh, all those feelings he’d tried so hard to shove down and lock away like an overstuffed suitcase just burst right back open. His eyes felt hot and Jigen blurred across the booth.

“I need some air,” he gasped, stumbling out of the restaurant. He heard Jigen call his name over the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. 

The cool, rough brick prickled through the back of his shirt as he leaned against the wall outside, fumbling with his lighter. A zip and hiss alerted him just before the flicker of flame hovered into view, charitably lighting the cigarette dangling from his lip. Oscar pulled in that first bracing lungful of smoke, the nicotine calming his nerves as he exhaled. His head tipped back against the bricks as Jigen settled in beside him with his own cigarette. 

“Marlboros, huh?” 

“They remind me of you.”

Jigen had nothing to say to that. When Oscar looked at him, his eyes were shadowed beneath his hat again. “Your memory has kept me company longer than you have. Even with the letters. I’m not sure I know what to do now that the reality is here in front of me.”

When Jigen finally spoke, his voice was measured, steady: “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Oscar shook his head emphatically. “No, stay, please.” When Jigen still seemed hesitant, he added, “I want to show you something. Forget dinner. Take me home.”

Jigen drove them back to Oscar’s apartment without being told the way. He followed Oscar up the three flights of stairs, down the hall past the neighbors who never stopped shouting, and through his front door. Oscar flicked the lights on and toed his shoes off in the entryway, hanging his backpack on a hook by the door. Jigen removed his boots. 

“This is my place,” Oscar said, holding out his arms and doing a slow turn. “It’s not much, but I pay the rent, and it’s mine. Over there are my textbooks—I enrolled at the University last fall, but I wasn’t sure if I’d stick with it, so I didn’t mention it. I haven’t chosen a major yet.”

Jigen drifted along behind Oscar, hands tucked in his pockets and not touching anything, as though he were in a museum. Oscar pointed out the framed photographs and artwork on the walls, including the one where he’d artfully arranged the cherry blossom postcards Jigen had sent him. He named casual acquaintances from school, the shop owner where he worked, the professors he liked and the ones he despised. He showed Jigen the bookshelf that was full of bound journals, some of which were full of poetry. He showed him, quietly proud, the small anthology he’d gotten into while he was in therapy. In the bedroom, he showed Jigen that he had a proper suit for special occasions, work clothes, more casual wear, and the outfit he liked to wear for poetry readings at the cafe down the street. The shirts that Jigen had bought him still hung among the other clothes, a bit faded but still serviceable.

He told Jigen stories that hadn't made it into the letters. How he'd wandered the streets of Toulouse after Beau had left him, heartbroken and aimless, until he'd got to chatting with a shopkeeper about the merits of imported versus domestic cigarette brands. One topic had led to another and the shopkeeper had offered him a job before he left. He told Jigen how the shopkeeper's wife had taken one look at him and insisted he come over for dinner every night until he was back on his feet. How he still had dinner with them every Sunday.

He told Jigen about the fox he'd seen on his first day of classes, how it had stared at him in the morning mist, perfectly still, for a full minute before trotting away.

He told Jigen how he'd been so nervous at his first poetry reading that he'd momentarily been unable to say anything in French and had only been able to save face by reciting a poem he'd written in Japanese—when he was thirteen. The audience hadn't known the difference. 

When he had run out of breath for stories, he turned to Jigen. “I did all of this just in the past two years. After Beau left me, I wasn’t sure how to move forward. The last time I’d faced being completely alone… well, that was when you found me.”

“You’ve come a long way since then.” Jigen sat in his living room on his secondhand couch, an alien in the life Oscar had built for himself, yet he didn’t seem completely out of place. 

“You gave me that first push to getting my life together. To living my own life. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“But.”

“No. No ‘buts.’” Oscar shook his head, smiling. “You did so much for me, more than you needed to do for a stray you’d found in an alley. I know that I wanted more than you could give, even after all that. I have a bad habit of putting people I love on pedestals. It’s a long way to fall when you’re not everything I want you to be, but that’s on me, not you.”

“I’m still sorry I wasn’t there for you more.”

“I know. I also know you have nothing to be sorry for. That’s why I wanted to show you that I don't need you to save me anymore. You care so much, Jigen, but you’re only one man.”

It was the first time he’d spoken Jigen’s name out loud that evening. As if summoned by it, Jigen slid closer on the couch. Oscar met him halfway and melted into the embrace he’d been craving for three long years. The magnets had finally snapped together through the pull of their irresistible bond. “You’ve grown up, Oscar.”

Oscar laughed. “Oh, god, I hope so.”

Jigen brushed warm lips just below Oscar’s left ear, and Oscar could feel the smirk against his skin before he heard it in Jigen’s voice: “You don’t have to work so hard to impress me, you know.”

Hearing his own words returned to him this way made him giggle breathily. “Just making up for lost time. Speaking of which... Would you like to see the bedroom again?"


	7. Intimate Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the sex happens. Art by me.

In the bedroom doorway, Jigen kissed him for the first time in five years, but it could have been last week, or fifty years ago, for all the meaning time had in that moment. Oscar quivered at the familiar, smoke-sweet taste of his lips, inhaling sharply. The warm press of Jigen’s hands at the nape of his neck and the small of his back anchored Oscar against the hard lines of his body. Oscar shuffled backwards, leading Jigen by the tether of their embrace, until his legs bumped into the edge of his bed. 

They tumbled down onto the single-wide mattress. Jigen’s hat toppled off to the side somewhere, and when Oscar’s legs wrapped around Jigen’s hips they had to pause so Jigen could take his gun out of his waistband and set it on the stacked milk crates Oscar used for a nightstand. This struck Oscar as inexplicably funny. Giggling, he pushed Jigen away with a hand on his chest, only to laugh harder at the bewildered look on his face. “This part is easier without clothes on,” he teased. “Unless you planned on doing nothing but kiss me all night.”

Oscar felt a thrill of triumph as Jigen actually blushed. “I wasn’t in a hurry,” he mumbled, looking off to the side. “If you’re not kicking me out, we can take our time.”

Now Oscar understood why Jigen hid his eyes under his hat; when his eyes were visible, he was too open, too easy to read. For all that Jigen kept himself at a distance, for all that he tried to play the cool and mysterious stranger, his soft interior was exposed to Oscar in that moment. Jigen had missed Oscar as much as Oscar had missed him, and he was… _nervous?_ Oscar threaded his fingers through Jigen’s hair, silkier than he remembered it. “I was hoping you could stay a while,” he admitted. “It’s been so long since I’ve had you all to myself.”

Jigen’s eyes widened as his blush deepened. Oscar could feel his pulse speeding up where his fingertips rested alongside Jigen’s throat. He gazed up at Jigen, softening his teasing smile and drawing him back down for a breath-stealing kiss. His hands drifted down to the buttons of Jigen’s shirt and plucked them open one at a time, like pulling petals from a flower to divine romantic prospects: _He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me…_ Jigen shivered above him, still hesitant, as if uncertain what to do with such tenderness. Perhaps he was still remembering Oscar as the stray, broken kitten he’d found in an alley all those years ago. Oscar would just have to prove otherwise. 

“Relax,” Oscar whispered against his lips. “Relax, Jigen. I’ve got you.”

Jigen huffed a laugh of recognition, but he allowed Oscar to unbuckle his belt and draw down the zip on his slacks. When Oscar moved to sit upright, Jigen scooted back to give him room. Oscar peeled Jigen’s clothes off one piece at a time, then his own, losing himself in kissing Jigen senseless in the process. His fingers mapped out scars old and new, wondering how many of them he’d earned since the last time Oscar had been able to touch him like this. He honestly couldn’t remember. The hair over Jigen’s chest and belly was coarse yet pettable. The thick curve of his cock was framed by denser curls, and this, _this_ Oscar remembered quite well. Jigen hissed as Oscar wrapped his hand around the shaft and stroked slowly, feeling the velvet heat of his foreskin gliding over the hardness underneath. A low, sputtering groan escaped him when Oscar straddled his lap and squeezed them both together, petting their cocks with too-light touches. There was only so much they could do without some kind of lubricant if they didn’t want to wind up chafing. It felt so good, though, neither of them wanted to stop. 

Oscar kept a bottle of lubricant tucked inside the pillowcase of the spare pillow on his bed, within easy reach but not easily spotted by nosy visitors. He brought it out now and prepped himself with one hand as he kept his other busy teasing both of their cocks. Jigen let Oscar take the lead. He kissed Oscar’s neck and sucked vivid, bruising kisses into the pale skin below the line where his collar would cover him. His hands kneaded the soft swells of Oscar’s ass, spreading him open helpfully as Oscar worked three, then four fingers into himself, stretching his rim with practiced motions. 

It had been almost two years since Beau had left him; however, though he hadn’t entered into another long-term relationship since then, Oscar had not remained celibate. There were always men who were interested in what Oscar had to offer. He’d hadn’t brought very many back to his place, though. Jigen was the first in a long while, but Jigen was special. His touch drew sounds out of Oscar that no other man’s could, or at least none had yet. Even Beau, who at one point Oscar thought he’d be with for the rest of his life, had paled in comparison to Jigen in bed. Maybe that was one of the reasons Beau had left him. Oscar didn’t want to think about that now, however. 

Pushing Jigen back onto the bed, Oscar slicked skin-warmed lube over his generous cock and shifted around on his knees until he was positioned above it. He eased down onto Jigen with a full-body shiver. Jigen moaned openly, head tipped back, callused fingertips digging into Oscar’s pale hips. “Ohhh, Oscar,” he sighed, eyelids fluttering as though caught in a dream. “Fuck. I missed you.”

Oscar savored the fullness, the ache, once he was completely seated on Jigen’s cock. It pulsed inside him like a second heartbeat. He could feel the tightness of his lower belly where it pressed forward against his abdominal wall. He rubbed his hand over it, wonderingly. There wasn’t quite a bulge there, but he could swear he felt something move against his palm when he rocked his hips experimentally. It was criminal how good it felt to have Jigen inside him again. It was like welcoming him home. 

“Jigen,” he breathed, the last syllable curling up in a soft whine. He rose up on his knees, one hand resting on Jigen’s chest for stability, the other lingering over his abdomen. When he dropped down again, it knocked the air out of his lungs. Something definitely bumped up against his palm from inside. “Hnnnhhh… Daisuke, oh god, _Daisuke!”_

“Yeah,” Jigen agreed, rolling his hips up to meet Oscar’s next descent with a satisfying clap of skin against skin. “Yeah, that’s it. Oscar, you feel so good. Dreamed about having you. Ahh, you’re even better than I imagined.”

Whimpering, Oscar bounced on Jigen’s lap faster, punching a chorus of groans out of them both. “Missed you so much,” he gasped. “I thought about this, too. About— _hahhh_ —you filling me up, making me yours again…”

Oscar’s words cut off in a choked cry as he came in warm stripes across Jigen’s belly. Jigen let go of his hips and reached up to pull him down for a desperate kiss. He rolled them over on the narrow bed and fucked Oscar hard and relentless until he, too, found his release. He stayed there, resting on his shaking elbows, one hand still cupping the back of Oscar’s head. Their mouths felt cool and dry from panting so hard as they traded breathless, trembling kisses. 

…

“Guess we were both kinda wound up,” Jigen chuckled, once they’d cleaned up and settled into bed for a cuddle. He touched his forehead to Oscar’s and kissed the end of his nose. “Maybe we can take our time a little more tomorrow.”

Oscar nodded, grinning up at him. “I’d like that. How long can you stay?”

Jigen sighed. “Four nights. I probably shouldn’t even be here that long, but I wanted to do more than just roll into town, grab a bite, have a quickie, and run again. I’ll have to keep a low profile.”

“Might help if you shaved.” At Jigen’s thunderous glare, Oscar held up his hands in surrender and laughed. “Okay, only kidding! Maybe you could just dress a little less flashy. Wear a different hat.”

Jigen fetched his hat from the side of the bed and plopped it onto his head, even though he was still naked otherwise. “What’s wrong with how I dress? Or my hat?”

He looked so honestly offended that Oscar couldn’t help but crack up harder. “Jigen, you dress like a mafia hitman. You stand out. Do you have anything to wear besides suits and fedoras?

Jigen grumbled and deflated. “…Not really. I’ll go shopping in the morning.”

“You could borrow something of mine?”

“No offense, Oscar, but as skinny as I am I don’t think your pants would fit me right.”

“Are you implying I don’t have an ass?”

“You’ve got a perfectly nice ass. I’m implying I have too much leg. And dick.”

Oscar gave a scandalized, delighted shriek and whapped Jigen with a pillow. Jigen cackled and grabbed the other pillow to return fire. And so, the two grown-ass men spent their first night back together in years playing naked pillow-fight until they passed out, sprawled across the single bed and each other. 

Jigen was still there when Oscar awoke the next morning. 


	8. Crossed Wires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Jigen's time in Toulouse.

  
The next three days went by in a blink, despite Oscar and Jigen doing their level best to make the most of their time together. But Oscar had work, and classes, and homework, and a poetry reading—all things that Jigen insisted Oscar not skip on his account, as this hadn’t exactly been a planned visit. Oscar could hardly concentrate on his coursework, however, knowing that Jigen would be waiting for him when class ended. Marguerite and Claude, the shop owners, laughed at him for how distracted he was at work, even when he tried to pass a pack of cigarettes to a small child instead of a chocolate bar (he corrected himself quickly and no harm was done). Jigen even attended the poetry reading; Oscar was so nervous to have him there that he was certain he’d flub every word of his poem. He didn’t. Jigen grinned at him from the back and applauded with everyone else. When Oscar wasn’t busy with the rest of his life, he showed Jigen around Toulouse and took meals with him. When they had nothing better to do, they went back to Oscar’s place and made love like each time would be their last. They never could be sure it wouldn’t be. 

Jigen had made good on his concession to dressing more inconspicuously. He looked almost as out of place in his tourist clothes: canvas bucket hat, sunglasses, jeans, and t-shirts that ran a size or two too large. He tied his shoulder-length, fluffy hair back in a ponytail. But nobody gave him a second glance, and his shoddy accent when he spoke French made perfect sense. Oscar introduced him as “his friend from America” when he inevitably encountered someone from Oscar’s life, and Jigen was perfectly cordial to everyone, though Oscar’s friends later would remark that he seemed aloof and shy. Oscar knew, of course, that Jigen wasn’t shy, exactly; he simply didn’t want to be seen as too permanent a fixture in Oscar’s life. He didn’t want to be remembered. 

Oscar knew, as they lay in bed together that final night, that Jigen wasn’t planning to visit again. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew that if he made a habit of it he’d be putting Oscar in danger. He spoke sometimes of the women and men he’d met, all of them people he’d loved to some degree or another, only to have them betray him and/or die the next time they met. It was like a curse. He’d been bracing for something similar to happen with Oscar, he confessed. Oscar held him tightly and kissed his sweat-damp hairline. “I promise,” he said, “I will never betray you.”

“You thought about it, once,” Jigen reminded him, but there was forgiveness in his smile.

“And you said you could never hate me.”

Jigen pressed his face into Oscar’s neck and breathed deeply, as though filling his lungs with Oscar’s scent to take it with him when he left. “No,” he agreed, quietly, “I could never hate you.”

“Then why are you acting like you’ll never see me again?”

Jigen sighed. “Oscar, you know the sort of life I live. I can’t make any promises from one day to the next. And I have enemies. Dangerous people who would use anyone close to me to hurt me.”

“I’m not actually as weak and delicate as I look, you know,” Oscar said. “I used to be a police lieutenant. I know how to use a gun, how to fight.”

“But you don’t have a gun anymore, do you?” Jigen’s voice was hard, exasperated. “That’s not your life anymore, and I don’t want it to be.”

“Have you even thought about asking what _I_ want?” Oscar’s hands clutched at Jigen’s shoulders. “I don’t care about the danger! Or at least, I don’t want you to live your life denying both of us any chance at being happy together, just because you’re afraid of what _might_ happen! I’m not—I’m not a _doll_ you can keep safe by putting it on a shelf and never touching it!”

Jigen flinched at the comparison. He’d seen enough of the House of Fujiko to be disturbed by the idea of Oscar as a doll, even if he hadn’t seen Oscar like that back then. “I just want to protect you from the kind of trouble that follows me around.”

“So protect me,” Oscar pleaded, “but protect me here, once in awhile, too. Otherwise what’s the point of keeping me safe, if you can’t even see me?”

“Your life is more important than that,” Jigen protested. 

“Shouldn’t I get to decide that? I can’t make you come to see me, but I won’t forgive you if you avoid me out of some misplaced sense of chivalry and self-sacrifice, either. That’s not noble, Jigen, it’s just cowardice.”

Jigen gave a frustrated huff and rolled out of bed, fumbling on his underwear and jeans. Oscar let him go. He was only going as far as the tiny balcony for a smoke, anyway. After a moment, Oscar pulled on his own shorts and joined him, stealing the cigarette from his lips to take a drag. When Jigen leaned in to kiss him, Oscar let him, smoke curling out between their mouths. 

“I don’t want to argue with you,” Jigen murmured contritely. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and even though he was more dressed than he had been in bed, he seemed more naked. His deep brown eyes were sad, and afraid, and so full of love that Oscar’s heart ached in echo of it. 

Oscar placed the cigarette gently back between Jigen’s lips and wound his arms around his waist, leaning his head against his chest. “I’m sorry I was so harsh. I know you mean well.”

“I’ll _try_.” The words were like pulling a boot from mud. “I still can’t promise you anything, but if I’m able… I’ll come back to you when I can.”

Squeezing Jigen until he grunted, Oscar smiled into his chest hair. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I know I can’t be part of your life all of the time, but I’d like to be a part of it _sometimes_.”

“You’ve been part of my life since the day I found you in that alley. You never really stopped.” Jigen kissed the top of his head. “I didn’t think there was room for me in _your_ life, now that you’ve worked so hard to build a new one.”

“I’ve always held room for you,” Oscar insisted, soft and intense. “I don’t know how you can hold _so many_ people in your heart, yet somehow you think I wouldn’t be able to hold _you_.”

The way Jigen looked at him, like he was something wondrous, made Oscar blush and hide his face against Jigen’s shoulder. Jigen chuckled and rested his cheek against Oscar’s sex-rumpled curls. “You really are a poet, huh? Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone say something so sweet to me.”

“Not even Lupin?” Oscar peeked at him slyly. 

Jigen snorted. “Lupin has other ways of showing his affection. Like knocking me out and tying me up so I wake up in a trap he's too stupid to stay away from himself.”

Laughing, Oscar shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what you see in him, but I’m glad he makes you happy.”

Jigen’s voice was fond as he said, “Yeah, he does.”

There was nothing more that needed to be said. Oscar prodded at his feelings, wondering at the lack of jealousy he felt toward Lupin. It would be understandable if he were jealous—Lupin was the one who kept dragging Jigen all over the world on their wild heists. He was the main reason Jigen couldn’t settle down in one place, with Oscar, though admittedly he wasn’t the only reason. However, when Oscar thought of Lupin, he only felt an odd mix of regret (for the role he’d unwittingly played in sundering Oscar from Zenigata) and gratitude. The Jigen that had come back to him from his time with Lupin was undeniably a happier one. 

Jigen smoked the last of the cigarette and stubbed it out on the railing, leaving the butt in the ashtray Oscar kept out there for that purpose. Oscar took him by the hand and led him back to bed. Without words, they found each other in the dark one last time—and it truly was the last time, at least for now. Oscar could feel it in the twist of his heart, the prickle of heat behind his eyes. Every kiss, every touch, every gasp of breath he gave to Jigen, he tried to communicate the wish he carried inside him: _come back to me again and again and again._

When Oscar awoke the next morning, Jigen was gone.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more letters, and a final scene. Art is also by me.

  
[A postcard depicting the colorful onion bulb spires of St. Petersburg.]

Dear O,

I’m sorry for leaving without saying good-bye. I never have been good at those.   
I’ll be based out of Japan for a while. I’ll call you with a mailing address once I have something set up.   
Please take care of yourself.

All the best,

-J

…

Dear J,

How is Japan? I know that Z has gone back to his beloved Tokyo Metro in pursuit. It is strange receiving letters that tell two sides of the same story. It’s almost as though I get a clearer picture of what happened than either of you, without ever being there myself. 

I have bad news and good news. The bad news is that C—the shop owner, you met him—suffered a stroke. He is recovering well, but his wife M has insisted he retire. They’ve hired on more help and I’ve been promoted to general manager. They’re very impressed with how I run the shop. 

Sadly, I’ve had to put my university studies on hold, as there’s simply too much to do right now. I promise I’ll return to it once things are more stable. I’ve chosen a major: business management. It seems fitting. I like working for the shop, and managing it, and perhaps someday it will be _my_ shop. They have no children of their own and have spoken obliquely of leaving the shop to me when they finally retire to the countryside. I’m not ready for that yet—for the responsibility or for them leaving! Someday, though. 

(Don’t worry, I am still writing poetry. Poetry doesn’t pay the rent, though, you know?)

In more surprising news, B contacted me out of the blue. He was crying and begging me to take him back. He’d returned to live with his parents in Avignon. Apparently he is single again. Not a word from him in two years, and this was why he finally called me. I told him to lose my number and go fuck himself. I’m not proud of it, but surely I can be forgiven for this pettiness? He was the reason I wanted to be more kind, once. It’s ironic.

I know long distance calls are a pain and expensive, but it was good to hear your voice, however briefly. Take care of yourself, and stay in touch.

Yours,

-O

…

Dear O,

It is springtime in Japan once more. I’m sending you some new postcards. The ones I sent you before looked a little faded. I tried to press a cherry blossom between the pages of a book for you but we had to leave it behind very suddenly. Long story. 

It’s a little frustrating not knowing when or where I’ll be from one day to the next, so it’s hard to make plans or give you more specific dates or times to expect a call. I called once when you were away, I think. It just rang until I got the operator message. Maybe I should send you an answering machine. You have the more reliable schedule and location, anyway. 

It’s funny living in Japan again after bumming around Europe and the US for as long as we have. Everywhere else, I look too Asian. In Japan, I look too Western. Nobody is ever happy with me, I guess. My Japanese accent is also as bad as my French, according to L (but G tells me that L’s Japanese is, and this is a rough translation, “fucking weird”, so I don’t know how much stock I should put in his opinion.) 

How is the shop? M and C? Sorry to hear about the stroke. Glad to hear you’re focusing on business management, though. That sort of thing was never for me, but I could see it suiting you. You’re a smart ~~kid~~ guy. I’ll be sure to buy my cigarettes from you whenever I’m in Toulouse. 

I think you made the right call about B. Shame about him, though. He seemed good for you, back then. I guess everything changes.

Take care and I’ll call again soon. Let’s try Sunday evenings? 

With love,

-J

…

Dearest J,

Unfortunately, I usually work on Sundays now. C and M are preparing for retirement, though they're both in good health at the moment. The shop is open every day of the week. You can always try calling me at the shop, though. It’s not often busy on Sundays, aside from a few regulars. The number is [number redacted]. I probably won’t be able to chat for long, or in great detail, but it would be nice to hear from you anyway. 

If we start having regular phone dates, I suspect we won’t need to keep up written correspondence as much. Phones are so much more immediate, almost like being in the same room as the other person. We really are moving into the future, aren’t we? Answering machines are starting to become more affordable for home use, so maybe I’ll just pick one up myself. I’m making better money now. When C and M move out, I can take over the apartment above the shop. It’s much larger and nicer than my current place. It seems like things are moving so quickly. I can’t help but think about how swiftly time moves on, whether we are happy or not, whether we are working hard or idle. I wonder what shape our lives will be in the next time we see one another, in the future? Like you said, everything changes. We will change, individually, and in relation to each other.

I look forward to your calls. In the meantime, keep yourself safe for me. I’d say ‘give my love to Z when you see him’ but I suppose it doesn’t work that way, does it? Give my love to L and G (and even F, if you see her), then. You can tell them it’s from your stray cat. Let them puzzle over that!

Love, always,

-O

…

_[Record of correspondence between subjects ‘J’ and ‘O’ ends.]_

…

Near closing time on Sunday, a bell jingled over a door in a little grocery shop in Toulouse, France. The shopkeeper, a man with ash-colored hair, set his newspaper aside and automatically rang up the items set on his counter. His customer spoke, then, in a voice that immediately summoned memories of watching Westerns on television, of smoky-sweet kisses, of seven years’ worth of postcards tucked away in shoeboxes: “A pack of Marlboros, too.”

Oscar’s eyes widened and flicked up to meet the kind, laughing face of a man he hadn’t expected to see again so soon. “Jigen,” he breathed, and as if summoned, the man in the fedora and the sharp suit leaned across the counter and kissed him—on each cheek, like a proper Frenchman, which Jigen decidedly was _not_ (being neither proper nor French). Oscar all but threw the cigarettes at him, trying to scowl but a relieved smile twitched its way through instead. “You bastard! You haven’t called in _weeks_ , and you just show up? I thought you might have _died_! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Aw, now, don’t do that,” Jigen chided. “Ol’ Pops has been really good about not having more of those, so don’t you start trying to catch up with him.”

Now Oscar did scowl, though it was more of a pout. “Don’t call him things like that when I’m thinking about kissing you properly.”

Jigen just grinned as Oscar vaulted over the counter and flipped the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed.’ He locked the door, tossed his apron on a hook behind the counter, and dragged Jigen by the wrist to the back of the shop, far from view of the big front windows. Then, he flung his arms around Jigen’s neck as, laughing, they finally had the first of many kisses that evening. 

“Come on,” Oscar said, folding his hand into Jigen’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll pour us some wine and you can tell me all about what’s been keeping you busy this past month.”

Allowing himself to be led up the steps that led to Oscar’s apartment, Jigen chuckled under his breath. “I can tell you right now, I don’t think it would have fit on a postcard.”

_...out of this story and into another..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up posting this only a few hours after chapter 8, because I cannot be stopped. 
> 
> Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. I'm not sure if this series needs another sequel or not, but I'm going to let Oscar and Jigen bask in this happy moment for awhile. The whole point of this story was to illustrate that 'happy ever after's don't really exist, because nothing ends; but I can get behind a 'happy for now' ending on a story. That also is the reason for the partial quote I lifted from The Last Unicorn, as the final ending words instead of 'end' or 'fin' or anything like that. 
> 
> I think if I do revisit this series, it will be to explore Oscar's reconciliation with Zenigata in more detail, and how Zenigata got from... the way he was in TWCFM, to how he became the Pops we all know and love from the rest of the show. But that's a job for future!Doodle. 
> 
> Take care, friends.


End file.
